


I Wish We Were Birds

by epistemology



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Court of Owls, Gen, Jason Todd has a Tragic Backstory (tm), M/M, NO CAPES, Occasionally Unreliable Narrator, and more of a DC fic that steals ideas from inception, less of an inception au, light jaydick, like usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epistemology/pseuds/epistemology
Summary: Dick doesn’t regret his choice to work with Bruce again. Not only is Bruce the best Extractor around, but Dick owes everything to him, even if it meant leaving others behind. But when the two of them are hired for a mission requiring an elite team, Dick finds himself dredging up past relationships and learning more of the secrets Bruce is hiding. He may be in a little over his head.Or, the Batfam Inception au of my dreams.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne (past)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been working on for a while, because I love DC and I love Inception, and I've had plans to write an au for a bit. I already have a few chapters written, but I'll be updating every other week for now because I don't want to stress myself out with updates and then fall behind. (Side note: you don't have to have seen Inception to read this fic, but it will obviously make more sense if you have.)
> 
> Also, you will see I have chosen not to use Archive warnings, mostly for spoilers' sake, but I will always add warnings in the chapter notes if I feel they are necessary. The rating will not move to E, and if you've read my work before, you know I generally keep things pretty mild. I may be adding a few tags as we go too, but I'll make sure to say so if I do.
> 
> Lastly, thank you to dbakeiro for being a wonderful beta and helping me flesh out my ideas, to the Wayne server for being chaotic and encouraging, and to my rats for being the best friends I could ask for <3

The dream was collapsing.

Dick bit back a swear and scanned the crumbling hotel for his partner. Somewhere, he had to be— There. Ten feet away, a body lay with a knife impaled in the center of the chest. Bruce was awake, then.

Dick plowed forward. 

Dent had disappeared back when the building had started to go down, debris flying every which way until Dick could see nothing but a cloud of destruction. The plan had been simple, and the whole operation should have gone off without a hitch. Extract the proof that Harvey Dent was paying off the defense and convicting innocent people he wanted behind bars for his own personal gain. They’d done it a hundred times before.

So why was everything going to hell now?

Dick hadn’t been in the room when the explosions had started going off. Hadn’t been in the room when someone—Dent, maybe—sent a knife straight through Bruce’s heart.

Everything had been going smoothly before that. Dick was snooping, as usual, and Bruce had spoken to Dent, privately. Of course privately, because he didn’t trust Dick to be in on the conversation, because he never, after all these years, let Dick— 

Bruce worked alone, and that was fact. Despite the ever growing number of apprentices he took on, it was always down to him.

But right now it was down to Dick.

He launched himself over the banister and onto the only still standing flight of stairs on the other side of the room. A sharp pain shot through his ankle, but he grit his teeth and kept going, two steps at a time. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

When he reached the top, he came upon a hallway with a floor that was shaking but only distantly. The explosions had only rocked one half of the hotel, and Dick found himself grateful for the semi-stable ground. He checked his watch. Three seconds real time, which translated to roughly fifteen here.

The safe. It had to be somewhere. There was always a safe.

A line of doors ran down the hall. Hotel rooms, probably. He didn’t bother checking every one; the safe was always someplace special, someplace secret. 

God, Dent had said a number earlier, hadn’t he? What was it?

This was supposed to be Bruce’s job. Bruce’s mission. But Bruce was lying cold somewhere downstairs, and Dick was fixing whatever mess he’d obviously made, and then he’d wake up, and Bruce would pretend everything was fine, or he’d blame Dick for it all and— 

The hall ended with a door. Room 735. The number sounded just familiar enough for Dick to make quick work of the lock despite his dwindling time.

The room inside was empty and white, and the only adornment to the wall was a large, heavy duty safe. Bingo.

The thing about dreams was that you could manipulate them however you wanted, provided you knew you were asleep. This meant that certain things, like picking a safe, were much easier than they would ever be in real life. All it required was a little bit of focus and a strong belief that whatever string of numbers Dick imagined was actually the correct combination.

The safe opened with a resounding click that echoed softly against the backdrop of the crumbling building. There wasn’t much time before the danger would spread, but Dick only needed one good look.

The sound of a gun safety clicking off came from behind him. He froze.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Grayson.”

Dent.

“Why not? Got something to hide?” Dick asked.

He didn’t dare turn. Dick had long since learned to suppress those instinctive reactions towards getting your life threatened, but he’d come so far, not to mention Bruce had already woken up. It would be a shame to mess everything up now, when he was so close to getting what he needed.

“You know,” Dent said, “I was surprised when I didn’t wake up after I killed your dad.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“Don’t interrupt me. But now I see it’s because he wasn’t the dreamer, was he?”

Dick chanced a small turn of his head, just enough to catch a glimpse of Dent’s smug expression and gun trained in front of him.

“You know that won’t kill me, then,” he pointed out.

“I don’t need to kill you. I just need to wake you up. That’s how I destroy this little dream world you’ve created, right?” 

Dick inched out his squat until they were standing opposite each other, checking his watch subtly as he did. Two seconds. “Yeah, that’s how it works.” Easy does it tone, hands in front of him.

Dent’s gun didn’t waver.

“Move away from the safe, Grayson,” he said. Dick stepped away, one step, two.

“Look, I—”

“What are you here for?”

Trying to question, then. That wasn’t uncommon, and keeping Dent talking would buy him time. He jumped on the chance given him.

“Oh, just some information,” Dick said. “Condemning statements, lies you’re trying to cover up, proof of all your dastardly deeds. You know, the usual.”

“Don’t be smart with me!”

Dick grinned. “Of course, that all depends on if there’s anything to find. Maybe you aren’t actually hiding anything.”

“Just get to the point, kid,” Dent grumbled. “Who sent you?”

“Why Harvey!” Dick clasped his hand to his heart in mock pretense. “Are you telling me there actually _is_ something incriminating in that safe?”

Dent shook the gun threateningly, as if to remind Dick he was still talking thanks to his _generosity_ alone. “Who. Sent you.”

“Bruce Wayne,” Dick answered. “You must’ve seen him downstairs. He sends me on all these things, technically.”

“Alright, that’s it.” Without warning, Dent grabbed his arm and dragged him to the floor to ceiling window on the opposite wall. The glass was gone, and Dick suspected that was Dent’s doing, now that he knew he was dreaming. He peered out over the edge, and the ground seemed much further down than it should have been based on his original designs of the hotel, an empty city stretching out down below. Another alteration Dent must have decided to make.

“I can’t actually kill you here, but I can make sure it’s not fun. Talk, or I throw you over.”

“Okay, okay.” Dick tried to sound appropriately afraid, but he needed to get back to that safe, and fast. He only had a few minutes to act. “It was Cobblepot. He hired us. Wanted to get dirt on you.”

He knew he shouldn’t tell him this. Bruce would never give information like that away freely, but Dick wasn’t Bruce. They’d drugged Dent heavily enough that he shouldn’t remember any of this upon waking, and Dick could use any extra time he could get.

Dent pushed him inches closer to the ledge. “Why?”

“Hell if I know! Bruce and I don’t ask a lot of questions, okay? We took the job because it paid well.”

“Look here, kid,” Dent rasped into his ear. “I know Bruce. Maybe better than you, alright? Maybe daddy didn’t tell you, but this is personal, and I know it. He took this job specifically to fuck me over.”

“What do you mean?” Dick’s feet stumbled on the ledge, but Dent held on tight, fingers pinching into his neck.

“I’m saying that maybe Cobblebot offered the job—makes sense, the bastard—but that your daddy probably jumped on the chance when he heard my name. He’s always been a lying, two-timing son of a bitch, but apparently he’s a shitty father, too. Doesn’t surprise me.”

Dent’s grip grew tighter, and Dick gasped for the air to spit, “He’s not my dad,” before he struck.

His elbow connected with something, and then he was weightless, tilting backwards towards the city below. The lurch in his stomach lasted no more than a second before Dick was manipulating the confines of the building, and he fell onto solid carpet in the room.

The dream shook.

Dick knew not to mess with it—Dent’s modifications must have caused the quakes earlier—but he wasn’t going to waste this job. Not when Bruce was down for the count. It was up to him to succeed now.

He tried to stand, but the tremors only grew stronger and he was flung to the ground once more. Dick registered Dent thrown across the room. Still breathing. Not awake. The gun he’d been holding was still in his hand and— 

Dick threw himself out of the way, but it was too late. Pain shot through his side, and blood dripped onto the white floor below. _Not real,_ he reminded himself as he fell.

The dream shook again, and Dick gave up on walking, not with the fresh bullet wound in his side. He crawled across the room on hands and knees instead, Dent somewhere behind him. The safe shone only six feet in front of him. Four.

A hand grabbed his ankle, and Dick kicked, connecting with empty air. He kept going, but without warning his legs were pulled out from under him. And then Dent was on top of him. And then hands were around his throat.

Dick tried to draw in a breath only to find that he couldn’t.

“You’re not getting to that fucking safe, kid,” Dent hissed. “I wake you up and this whole place disappears. That’s how it works when you’re the dreamer, right?”

Everything was going dark. Dick screwed his eyes shut, concentrating, until he felt the heavy weight of a gun in his hand. 

He shot.

The pressure on his neck loosened. Dent fell backwards.

“Except I’m not the dreamer.”

He kicked Dent away, noting that he would bleed out in minutes. One second left on his watch; five minutes total. Dick continued his crawl to the safe. It was still open, and inside lay a single envelope, which he grabbed with bloody hands.

The building shook again. Behind him, Dent’s eyes were beginning to droop.

Dick read quickly, eyes scanning the pages of documents in the sleeve for something of importance. Something that Cobblepot would want. It all started to blur as his own injury caught up to him.

“Dammit!” he swore. “There’s gotta be something! C’mon.”

Distantly, he heard Dent chuckle. Dick read faster. One second.

And then the building rocked once more, and Dick rocked with it, falling to the floor with a thud. The wound that he had been able to ignore was now on fire, every nerve ending screaming in pain.

He closed his eyes and succumbed. 

Dick awoke with a start, hand flying to clutch at a phantom pain in his side. The bullet from Dent had ripped straight through, and even though he’d had worse before, the death had been particularly painful. He stood up and ignored the way the room spun. Getting used to functioning after coming back was part of the job, and someday his safety might depend on it. Possibly today.

The room spun a little more, and Dick allowed himself a few seconds to close his eyes and regroup. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to keel over at the movement, he took a breath and then a step. The pain in his side was dwindling, but the fact that it was there at all irked him. The wound was nonexistent; he hated waking up and still feeling it.

“Dick. We don’t have all night.”

Bruce was packing. He must have been awake for a minute, maybe more, and had already loaded most of the equipment. His back was to Dick, but that didn’t mean anything when Dick knew every line of his body like his own, and the tension he so obviously carried in his shoulders screamed that he was upset.

Dick bit back the instinctive reply. _I just woke up, can you not give me one fucking minute to—_

“Do you want a debriefing?” he asked instead. By the time his vision had fully cleared, Bruce had everything ready to go, and Dick had missed the chance to help, but he still had information to offer.

“In the car. We need to get out of here.”

Bruce fumbled a little with the door—odd, but he’d just woken up, too, after all—and then they were on their way out of the crumby motel room Dent had booked after he’d conveniently gotten trashed at a nearby bar. Dick glanced back at the sleeping form on the bed, now drooling a small puddle into his pillow, and then hurried after Bruce.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I slipped up.”

“Slipped up how, Bruce? You woke up way too soon. We can’t afford to let something like that happen again.” Dick slid into the passenger seat of Bruce’s Lexus and shut the door quietly behind him. Bruce took the wheel and started the car.

“It was my problem to handle—”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I made a mistake, Dick. It won’t happen again,” he snapped.

Dick knew he should have dropped it, but— “Why didn’t you tell me about Dent?”

Bruce stared straight ahead as he pulled out of the lot, eyes trained on the dark road and not on Dick, never on Dick. “I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Didn’t think it was— Didn’t think it was necessary? Bruce, that information would’ve been really nice to know, necessary or not. I thought we were partners.”

Dick half expected him to say something like, _That’s where you’re wrong,_ or even, _We were never partners,_ but Bruce just grunted, and Dick was reminded of how infuriatingly non-confrontational he could be, but somehow only when Dick was the one wronged.

He huffed a sigh and kicked his feet up on the dashboard. They had a long night ahead of them.

Dick slept most of the ride. They reached a motel in the middle of nowhere—somehow nicer looking than the last one—by late morning, and by then Dick’s stomach was grumbling loudly as he shifted in the cramped confines of the car. Bruce took no notice.

“Can we stop to eat?”

“We should drop off our things first.”

Dick sighed. “Bruce, please. I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and I don’t think you have either. I’m starving.”

He would pull out the puppy dog eyes, if he thought they would help, but as it stood, Bruce was immune. Logic was the way to go.

“Fine.”

Bruce switched lanes and turned across the street from the motel into the lot of a small diner. The smell of an all-American brunch wafted out, and Dick’s mouth watered.

Inside, they sat in a corner booth, and Bruce eyed everyone who walked through the door as Dick inhaled his eggs.

“I contacted Cobblepot while you slept,” Bruce was saying. “He seemed satisfied with the intel you got. Said he’d wire us the money by the end of the day.”

“Sounds good,” Dick answered through a mouthful of eggs. Bruce winced and went back to picking at his own. 

“You did a good job,” he said reluctantly. 

A complement from Bruce did not come easily, Dick knew that, and he cherished every one thrown his way. Bruce now was a far cry from the Bruce Dick had grown up around, who had taught him the ways of architecture and had laughed at his jokes and loved on him and Barbara. Bruce now didn’t pay compliments unless necessary. Bruce now was the Bruce after Jason, after _Talia._

“Thanks. But can we please talk about why I even had to do a good job? Why did you wake up?”

He closed off, as Dick expected he would, but Dick wasn’t one to let things go. “Bruce, I’m gonna keep asking. Just tell me why.”

Bruce set his fork down gently, not that he’d been using it much. “I told you. I slipped up. It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, I heard you last time. But why? What happened?”

“Nothing you need to know. I’ll handle it,” he said.

Dick narrowed his eyes. “I’m not accepting that answer. Tell me.”

They locked eyes, and for a moment Dick wondered if Bruce would put his foot down. If he would play the _I’m the boss_ card like he often did.

He held his gaze, and Bruce broke first.

“You know I’ve been having trouble designing dreams,” he whispered, and Dick nodded, leaning in. The lunch hour was beginning, and a crowd slowly flooded into the diner, meaning the tables next to them were now occupied by people who shouldn't overhear this conversation. “I accidentally made modifications which alerted Dent to my presence.”

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce continued. “We knew each other in school. We were…friends. Then things happened, and now we’re not.”

“And what, you thought it’d be a good idea to talk to him? I thought your whole shtick was to never bring personal stuff into dreams!”

“I was hoping,” Bruce admitted, “that the personal connection could prove beneficial in this instance. And if he hadn’t realized he was dreaming, I still stand by the fact that it would have.”

“But he found out. How?”

“I told you. I accidentally—”

“Made modifications,” Dick interrupted, “I know. But what exactly happened?”

Bruce grunted. “It won’t happen again.”

“I know. You said that already. Bruce, I’m starting to get worried. If this is about Talia—”

“I have it under control!” Bruce’s hand came down hard on the table, and the couple across from them turned to look with disapproving eyes. Dick watched him take two deep breaths, glare fixed on the silverware he’d knocked off his plate. “I have it under control,” he repeated.

“Okay,” Dick said, slowly. “Then what alerted Dent?”

Bruce stayed silent. Dick continued. Treading carefully, walking on eggshells. It’s what he was good at, or so people told him.

“Back when we talked about this, you told me you couldn’t design dreams because you kept accidentally designing real places that reminded you of her. Did you accidentally start changing the setting or something?”

“Or something.”

It was all he was getting. Dick knew when to stop pushing.

“Okay. Fine. Thanks.”

He went back to his eggs, and Bruce went back to glaring at newcomers. Not exactly a perfect team, but they knew each other, or maybe Dick just thought they did. He remembered the days when Bruce at least pretended to tell him everything.

The table shook, and for a moment Dick thought he was dreaming again, only to realize it was Bruce’s phone vibrating. He snuck a glance at the caller ID before Bruce answered, but it showed an unknown number. Not necessarily good news in their line of business.

Bruce’s face went dark as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line introduce themselves. Dick thought about asking, but the chance passed him by as Bruce stood and left the building without another word to him.

Dick watched him pacing outside through the large window at the front of the diner. He didn’t look happy. Bruce never looked happy nowadays, but this was something else. Dick prided himself in reading people well, and he knew enough to tell that whatever this call was, it was causing Bruce more stress than was typical.

Bruce kept pacing, and Dick abandoned his spying to pay the tab as the waitress swung by their booth. She smiled at him and asked where he was heading and how long he and his friend were staying in their little town. He smiled back and told her, _Not for long, we’re just passing through for a night_ , and for a moment he could pretend he was a normal guy on a road trip with his…what? Father? Business partner? Friend? Dick didn’t know anymore.

The bell over the door jingled, and Dick looked up to see Bruce had returned.

“Finish your meal. We’re leaving,” he said.

“Now?”

“Yes, Let’s go.”

Dick scrambled to his feet and followed Bruce back outside. “Why are we leaving? Who was that?”

“Potential client. We’re driving back to Gotham.”

“But we just left Gotham.”

“I know,” Bruce said. He unlocked the car, and Dick reluctantly climbed back in, not looking forward to another long drive after only an hour of freedom.

“I thought you didn’t like to be in Gotham for long periods of time.”

“Not usually, but this could be an important job, and I want to meet up with the client in person before we commit.”

“Oh, so you haven’t even taken the job, then. We’re going back just to discuss a _potential_ job with— Who was it, anyways?”

“Not important.”

“Not important? Bruce, I have a right to know!” Dick protested.

Bruce turned to glance at him, and the softness in his expression was something Dick hadn’t seen in years, not directed at him. “I promise I’ll tell you after I meet with him,” he said quietly. “Just let me do this alone first. I don’t want you getting involved if I don’t have to.”

It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, not in the slightest, but Dick let it go, let Bruce win. He’d gotten used to letting Bruce call the shots, ever since they started working together again.

Empty farmland rushed past them as they sped down the highway, back to Bruce’s home and the city where Dick had spent the majority of his childhood. Driving to Gotham never filled him with a sense of excitement, but something in Dick told him this time was different.

This time Bruce was nervous too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like making friends, so feel free to contact me on [tumblr](https://epistemologys.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm already late on my second update oops. We get Bruce's pov this time around (and next time, sorry). I'm going to jump between Dick, Bruce, and eventually Jason, but there won't really be a pattern to it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Bruce took a look at Dick’s sleeping form on the bed before turning to leave. They had arrived in Gotham late, and Dick hadn’t even wanted to eat by the time they’d stopped at yet another hotel, opting instead to collapse on the bed closest to the door, fully clothed. Bruce could understand the sentiment, but he had somewhere to be. Sleep would have to wait.

He took the car through downtown Gotham, weaving along streets he knew intimately, a long time ago. Dick was right. He didn’t like coming back to the city for long periods of time, and thankfully the stint with Harvey had kept them on the outskirts. But now he was back in the center of it all.

His childhood. His past. His mistakes.

The building he pulled up in front of stood tall, practically a skyscraper, yet somehow nondescript amidst the other sleek buildings that formed the city’s skyline. Bruce knew it well, even if he hadn’t entered it in years. He knew who worked there, what went on inside.

No one sat at the front desk, but it was late, and he had an inkling of how this was going to go. He walked straight to the elevator, which opened upon his arrival, and once inside, it slowly made its way upwards without the press of a button. Bruce refused to feel intimidated.

It stopped on one of the top floors, and the doors opened to reveal a lobby of sorts, sleek and professional. Large wooden doors along the walls closed off what must have been offices, and a soft light emitted from the one on the far side of the room, just slightly cracked.

He strode towards it.

The door didn’t creak as he pushed it open, a small testament to the luxury of the building. Bruce closed it softly behind him and pulled up a chair opposite the ornate desk that took up a large portion of the room.

The man facing the window turned.

“Hello, Lincoln,” Bruce said. He did not give him the deference of a last name.

“Bruce,” he acknowledged, taking a seat at the desk. “I’m glad you could make it. And on such short notice.”

“Your tone suggested urgency.”

“It did indeed. I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here.”

“Cut to the chase, Lincoln. You barely gave me any information over the phone. What do you want?”

That brought a smile out of him, easy and deliberate. “I suppose I want a lot of things.”

“No games,” Bruce said. “You played enough earlier. Tell me what you want, and we can negotiate a deal.”

Lincoln reached across the desk for a file that had been strewn to the side and thumbed through it unhurriedly. Bruce narrowed his eyes, but made no move to interrupt. He knew how Lincoln worked, thought he knew what made him tick. Bruce was in this for the long game, from the moment he picked up the phone. He watched as Lincoln flickeded idly through the pages.

“I always hated you,” he said finally. “You were always so…immaculate. Nothing could touch you.”

Bruce thought about objecting to that—certainly, a lot of things had touched him over the years, for better and for worse—but he chose to remain silent and let Lincoln continue. This was going somewhere.

“I thought if only I could be more like you then everything would be perfect. That’s what everyone told me. Be more like Bruce Wayne, they said.”

“Who said that?”

“Everyone did!” Lincoln shot back before composing himself again. He smoothed the front of his jacket, which had never wrinkled. “But now I sit before you, and I do not envy you at all, not in the slightest. You lost your wife, you broke your apprentice, you’re wanted by the League. For once, I am ahead.”

Bruce barely refrained from sighing. “Did you have me drive all the way here to tell me that?”

“No. I had you drive all the way here because I have an offer.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, considering. An offer from Lincoln March, whatever it may be, was a dangerous thing. He had his suspicions of Lincoln’s connections, and if they proved correct, the offer was sure to be something more than he was willing to give. Yet, it couldn’t hurt to hear.

Lincoln already knew about Talia, had said so over the phone. How he knew, Bruce was not aware, but the fact remained that he now possessed the power to ruin Bruce’s life with a single statement. It was worth listening to him, at the very least.

(Lincoln did not, on the other hand, know about Jason. At least not the whole story.)

“You know,” Lincoln said, “that a man who murdered his wife in cold blood would face a lifetime in prison. It’s not a sentence that’s easy to evade, even for a man of your…means.”

Bruce did, in fact, know that.

“You also know that the League of Assassins always gets their way, and one can only outrun them for so long.”

Bruce knew that as well.

“So,” he continued, “it’s a matter of practicality. You can turn my offer down and spend the rest of your life on the run. A rather short life too, if you ask me. Or you can accept my offer, and I will help you with your little problem.”

Bruce had two options. He could first ask about the offer and discover what exactly Lincoln wanted of him, or he could ask the more pressing question on his mind. How was he able to change anything in Bruce’s life? How could he take care of the League?

First things first.

“What’s the offer?”

Lincoln smiled. You know Slade Wilson, I presume? Also goes by the name Deathstroke.”

“Yes.”

“I want information from him.”

“You want me to extract information from Slade Wilson?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, that is what I said.”

Bruce did know Slade, and more personally than Lincoln may have expected. They’d had more than one confrontation over the years, the most recent being in regards to Dick— 

“Wilson is trained in dreaming. His mind is going to be like a fortress,” he objected. “There’s no way I’d be able to get anything out of him, certainly not with one level and maybe not even two.”

“So you’re saying no?”

Bruce grunted. “That’s not what I said. What kind of information would you be wanting?”

“Let’s keep it simple. Weaknesses. Things to exploit. Nothing in particular, but if I want to take down the man, I want to know how. I want to know him intimately, inside and out, every corner of his mind. Just get me information.”

Simple, he’d said.

Lincoln made no move to say anything else, returning to flicking through the file that still lay in front of him. Bruce half wondered what was in it, but chances were it was nothing of note, or information he already had, and Lincoln was using it solely as an intimidation tactic.

Extracting from Wilson would require more effort than the average job. Having Dick on his side would prove to be a sizable benefit, but he needed a full team to pull this off. An elite team.

And Lincoln knew this.

What was he playing at?

“If I were to agree to your terms, what would be in it for me?” he asked.

Lincoln set aside the file. “I can guarantee you protection from the League.”

Bruce doubted that.

As if sensing that, Lincoln continued. “I have certain connections that are more than capable of taking care of Ra’s Al Ghul,” he said, emphasizing the name with a measure of disgust. “They will make sure sure he is incapable of bothering you anymore, getting rid of both the person hunting you down and the only one who knows your little secret.”

“What about you?”

“Well, yes. I know too,” he admitted.

“How?”

“Where would be the fun in telling? Now, do we have a deal, or not?”

Bruce scowled. He didn’t like how Lincoln was orchestrating this. “Let’s discuss terms first.”

“Ever the businessman. But sure. Let’s start with my terms for you. I want to be sure this will succeed, so I require to be a part of the entire process, including picking the team.”

Bruce had already expected this. “As long as I have final say.”

“Naturally.”

“Anything else?”

“The  _ entire _ process, Bruce. I’m coming in the dream.”

That was not expected. No matter how well trained he was at protecting his own mind, very few non-architects willingly entered others’ dreams. Bruce may not build anymore, but he still knew how, and he had made damn well sure that each and every one of his students knew the basics. Bringing a ride-along would only complicate things.

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing the answer.

Lincoln fixed him with a stare. “Yes.”

Bruce nodded.

“Now, your terms?”

He hadn’t given much thought to his own terms, not when there wasn’t much he wanted besides the single thing Lincoln had already offered.

“I want proof that you can deliver.”

Lincoln smiled as if he had expected it. He most likely had.

“Beware the Court of Owls,” he said, “that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime.” He stood and held out a hand. “They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they’ll send the Talon for your head.”

Bruce stood and looked at the hand extended across the table, hesitating only briefly before clasping it firmly in his own.

“Deal.”

***

Dick had long since woken up by the time Bruce arrived back at the hotel. Showered too, most likey. The slightest hint of steam still filled the air, giving the room a bit of a humid feel that had Bruce itching to get out of his suit jacket. He removed it, draping it over the desk chair, and then got to work on his tie, the nice one he wore when wanting to make an impression.

Bruce didn’t care what Lincoln thought of him, in theory, but he’d be damned if he didn’t show up to that meeting looking his most professional.

Dick was sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard with his legs kicked out in front of him, invested in the work he had in front of him. He barely registered Bruce’s return, but when he did he lifted his eyes from his laptop, a question already on his tongue before Bruce cut him off.

“Meeting went well.” 

Dick frowned. Evidently that hadn’t been his question.

“I didn’t realize you were leaving so early,” he said.

Bruce took a seat at the cramped hotel desk and pulled his own laptop from his bag. Time to get started on research, not to mention organizing a team. “I was told to come as soon as I reached Gotham.”

Dick hummed, and when Bruce looked up, his eyes were trained on the screen in front of him, face pulled into a sour expression. It was a face he wore often, most notably when Bruce was doing something he didn’t agree with, whether it was the way he’d planned a mission or, in this case, the secrets he was keeping.

Bruce sighed. “We need to pull together a team,” he said. “A good one.”

That must have been a surprise because Dick closed his laptop, devoting all his attention to the conversation at hand. To his credit, Bruce knew he wasn’t known for working with teams.

“Why?”

“I accepted this new job, and it’s going to be more difficult than our average ones. We’re going to need the best of the best. I’m thinking of finding someone else to be the sole architect, allowing you to focus on being the point man.”

Dick waved his hand. “Stop, stop, stop!” He leaned away from the headboard and swung his legs off the bed, sitting up straight. “What’s the job? Why do we need a team?”

How much to share? That was always the question. Lincoln had made it clear that he wanted to be a part of the team, meaning Bruce could not escape letting Dick know who had hired them. But on the other hand, telling Dick about Lincoln meant telling him about the Court. Bruce was no fool, and Dick Grayson had a brand. He pressed and he guilted and he manipulated until you couldn’t  _ not _ tell him what he wanted to know. Bruce had gotten very good at ignoring these tactics ever since he’d made the choice to train Dick all those years ago, but he could do without the added stress of them being directed at him now.

Then again, an angry Dick was not all that fun to deal with either. But at least the silent treatment would allow him to get work done.

He’d have to tell Dick the details eventually. At least some of them.

“We’re being paid to extract from Slade Wilson,” he said, and waited for a reaction.

Dick’s eyes widened fractionally before he gritted his teeth and adopted the usual expression of contempt he always wore when Wilson was mentioned. Bruce didn’t know the full extent of what happened in those years that he’d worked for him, but he could make assumptions.

“Extract from Slade? Bruce, what were you thinking? There’s no way we can pull that off!”

“If we put together a team—”

“Bullshit, B! There’s no team that can manage that! He’s trained.  _ I  _ trained him!”

“Which is precisely why we are the only ones who can pull this off. You know him—”

“Will you just listen—”

“We need to do this—”

“Why? Why do we need to do this job, Bruce?”

Dick shot up from the bed when he took too long to answer and started pacing the short length of the room. He was worked up. Angry. Hurt.

“Is it Wilson?” Bruce asked. “Working with him again?”

“No. It’s not Slade.”

It was partly Wilson. There was no doubt that the prospect of having to see the man, having to infiltrate his dreams, was concerning to Dick, maybe in the same way Harvey had been for Bruce.

A tense quiet permeated the room until he was sure Dick would not speak. “The contractor is a man by the name of Lincoln March. He’s a very dangerous man for a variety of reasons, and I don’t want you involved with him any more than you need to be.”

Dick drew in a breath, releasing it loudly, then sat on the edge of the bed. His head hung forward for a moment, but when he looked up, his eyes shone with pity. “You can’t keep trying to protect me, B.”

“You’re my partner, Dick. You’re only in this life at all because I trained you,” Bruce said.

“You’re not responsible for what happens to me.”

“I am if you die on the job.”

“Tell me more about Lincoln March,” Dick said, and it was an obvious out. Changing the subject. Directing the conversation. Bruce took it as it was.

“He’s convinced we’re brothers. We’re not,” he added, seeing the look on Dick’s face. “I cannot find any evidence that we’re not related, but there’s not evidence we are either, and the fact remains that it is unlikely.”

“And what? He only trusts you to get this information from Slade?”

“You could put it like that. He unfortunately does not trust me in the slightest, but he also knows I am the only one possibly capable of pulling this off.”

“What information does he want?” Dick asked.

“Weaknesses.”

Dick hummed thoughtfully, and Bruce let him consider the situation he’d put them in. Extracting from Slade Wilson would not be an easy job. Near impossible, actually, but Dick had the added benefit of knowing the man more personally than perhaps anyone else. 

But Lincoln wanted in on the job. And Bruce didn’t want Lincoln around Dick because frankly, he didn’t trust that Lincoln wasn’t up to something behind the scenes. He almost surely wanted information from Wilson, but if he could find a way to ruin Bruce’s life at the same time? Well, Bruce wouldn’t put it past him.

“You said we need a team?”

He turned back to Dick, who now had his laptop balanced on his legs, already started on research most likely. Point man indeed.

“Yes. The best of the best.”

“Did you have any thoughts?” he asked.

Bruce did have thoughts, but it came down to whether Dick agreed.

“We need an architect, first and foremost. That cannot be me, and as I said earlier, you should focus on point.” Dick nodded, and Bruce continued. “I had the idea of using Tim.”

“Tim Drake?” 

“Yes.”

“Bruce,” Dick said. “He’s a kid.”

“He’s of age. Older than you were when you started going on missions,” Bruce pointed out.

“This is completely different. For one, I was probably too young, okay. And secondly, this is an extremely dangerous mission, even for us, and we’re experienced.”

Bruce had already thought through those exact objections. But the fact remained that Tim was the best, and that was what they needed.

“He’s a prodigy, Dick. Better than you were at building, and maybe better than I was, too. The only person who could possibly rival him would be Barbara.”

“And we can’t ask her,” Dick agreed. Bruce opted not to reply, and Dick, as always, read his silence. Correctly. “No. No way. We are not dragging Babs into this!”

“I’m not going to make her build,” he defended. “But she would be a valuable asset to stay topside and watch our vitals, make sure nothing goes wrong. This is going to be an extremely delicate job, and we need that.”

“Why her, though?”

“Because she’s the best, Dick.”

It was true. Bruce knew it, and Dick knew it, too. If this mission was to succeed, they would need Barbara’s help.

“I still say find someone other than Tim,” he said finally. He’d crossed his arms from his position on the bed, and Bruce was distinctly reminded of when Dick was young. The way he pouted had stayed the same.

“I’ll ask him. Give him a choice,” Bruce conceded. 

“That won’t help.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said, “none of us can say no to you, B. That’s how it is, how it’s always been. You ask, and the answer will always be yes.”

Bruce turned away, back to his laptop he’d opened minutes ago that had since gone dark. He thumbed the keypad until it lit up again. “I can think of someone who has no trouble saying no.”

He didn’t look back at Dick. Didn’t need to. They both knew.

“Let me ask him,” Dick said.

Bruce wanted to ask him. Wanted to ask and have him say yes, just like Tim inevitably would. Wanted to work together again like no time had passed and nothing had ever gone wrong. Wanted to ask for forgiveness and be forgiven and also forgive in turn. 

Dick was right. He shouldn’t be the one to ask.

“Are you sure he’ll say yes to you?”

“I’m not  _ sure, _ no, but I have a better chance. Jason’s— Jason has never been one to go along with what other people want of him, but we’ve worked well together in the past. There’s a chance he might agree, especially if it’s me.”

“Have you spoken to him at all since you left?” Bruce asked. The thought that Dick might have had contact with him this whole time while he himself was struggling to find news of where on the globe Jason currently was seemed wrong, misguided. Not when Bruce was the only one who knew what had happened to him all those years ago. The only one who had all the necessary facts to help if something were to go wrong.

But Dick shook his head. “Uh, we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, but,” he hurried to finish, “I still think I have a chance. Let me try this, okay?”

Bruce nodded. “Alright. I trust that you can convince him.”

Dick shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his laptop, and Bruce wondered what it was that he wasn’t mentioning. Something to do with Jason, related to their last time working together? Or something else entirely? 

He let it go.

“I’m in contact with Lincoln,” he offered instead, and Dick looked up, intrigued. “We have a week to gather the team, so splitting up might be wise. If you’re able to find Jason, then I can track down both Tim and Barbara. I’m fairly sure I know where she is currently.”

Dick nodded, likely in possession of the same information. Barbara liked her privacy, but she confided in the people she trusted. Her disappearance had been brief, and since then she’d been in the same place, as far as Bruce knew.

“Okay, that works. I’ll find him by the end of the week, and I’ll get him to come. I promise,” he said.

Bruce smiled wryly. “Are you sure you want to promise that?”

Dick smiled back. Uncertain. “Yeah. It’ll be fine.”

It would have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for more Batfam content, check out [Three Little Birds Sat On My Window](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22717318) by the lovely Q! It's reverse robins (my favorite) and talon!Dick, filled with wonderful characterization and well thought out backstories for the batkids in an age reversal universe. They also have a great Dick/Lincoln fic if you want more of Lincoln March being evil...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Barbara make an appearance. Also, more Bruce pov. (I know, I'm sorry, next chapter is Dick I promise.) Stay tuned next time for an elusive Jason ;)

It took just under an hour to reach Metropolis. Even the suburbs were bright and abuzz with the sights and sounds that accompany any self-respecting big city, which perhaps was why Tim moved here after the deaths of his parents, instead of remaining in Gotham. Bruce had never liked the place—actively avoided it according to Dick, even if he could never prove that—but the fact remained that Tim Drake lived in Metropolis, so Bruce had already had the misfortune of visiting often in the past year.

He’d met Tim years ago, at some fundraising gala for who knows what, back before everything in Bruce’s life had gone to hell, but he still remembered the small boy peeking out from behind his parents legs and the reprimands that had followed. Bruce hadn’t pegged the kid as an architect then, but Dick and Barbara had been still rather new to the game, and he never would have anticipated training so many people anyways. 

It wasn’t until after Tim’s parents had died that the kid had tracked Bruce down on one of his rare trips to Gotham and begged to be taught. Already an expert at lucid dreaming, he mastered architecture more quickly than any of Bruce’s other students, not counting Barbara. No one could hope to outdo her, but Tim came as close as he could. 

He was talented and determined and possessed more ambition than Bruce himself at times, and it could only end badly. Tim was young, barely an adult, and although he was perfectly within his rights to make his own decisions for his future, that did not mean Bruce had to agree. Tim needed this. He knew that. But Bruce didn’t have as much time to spare as he would have liked to give to him. And he didn’t have any kind of respectable future to offer, only a life of criminal activities of dubious morality.

Which was why Brue really should not have been doing this. Dick was right when he had objected to using Tim for this job. He may have gone out into the field before, but Bruce had never taken him on anything remotely dangerous. Or, not remotely dangerous, comparatively. This would be Tim’s first real mission, a test of both talent and courage. And perhaps common sense. He really should turn down the offer.

The problem was that Bruce already knew he wouldn’t.

He weaved his way through wide streets, cursing out the traffic and crowds of pedestrians in his head. No one city had the right to look so friendly. Everywhere you went people smiled and chatted and acted like there were no problems in the world, at least not here. He wished Dick had come with him. Wished he hadn’t left his partner to handle the hardest part alone, even if the man had insisted.

Dick had left in the early morning, before Bruce had gotten up. Where to, he refused to tell, but it was likely he caught a plane, meaning somewhere relatively far. Jason could be stingy with his locations, his aliases, his life. It didn’t sting that Jason wouldn’t tell Bruce where he was, but it did sting that he’d told Dick.

Bruce pushed it away. Now was not the time to dwell on Jason. It was time to talk to Tim.

The apartment building stood tall in front of him as he pulled up to the curb. Living in a place like this, it was easy to tell Tim came from money and that he wanted you to know it, with uniformed doormen, valet parking, marble floors with a deep red carpet leading to a concierge decorating the lobby. Bruce came from old money, and although he could appreciate the luxury of it all, it wasn’t exactly his style.

The difference between the majority of the building and Tim’s penthouse was obvious the moment you stepped foot inside. The kid was an odd mixture of minimalist and hoarder, with sparse decorations and white walls accented by seemingly random piles of knick-knacks on any available surface. But besides the clutter, the whole apartment was spotless and shiny and all neutral whites and grays. Tim must have had some kind of staff doing his cleaning, because Bruce doubted he could keep the place in such top shape without help.

“Gimme just a minute,” a thin voice called from the intercom on the nearest wall. Bruce was always surprised at the sheer amount of technology that Tim owned, though his manners could use some work. He settled in to wait awkwardly by the door until the kid came down from who knows where.

When Tim finally showed up, it was in a three piece suit that looked suspiciously rumpled. From lying in bed, perhaps? It wasn’t like Bruce didn’t know Tim practiced on his off time, but the reminder was always surprising. Had he managed two levels by himself yet?

“Hey, Bruce. Wanna tell me why you’re here?”

Straight to the point, as usual.

He and Tim had a schedule, and they hadn’t made plans to meet up for another two weeks. Bruce had always been the one insisting on keeping their sessions spaced out so as not to overwhelm Tim and give himself time for jobs in between. It was not typical for him to show up only an hour after calling Tim to let him know he’d be stopping by.

“I have something to discuss with you. Could we sit down?”

Tim’s brow furrowed, but he inclined his head towards the open space that acted as a living room. Bruce took the nearest armchair, stiff and rather uncomfortable. Tim opted for the couch, which looked to be the better choice. Despite the formality of his attire, he curled his legs up next to him as he sat, reminding Bruce yet again that he was only nineteen.

“Okay. Whatcha got for me?” Tim asked.

“I have a proposal,” Bruce began. “You’re allowed to say no.”

“Alright…”

“I’ve been contracted for a particular mission, and I need to put together a full team. Meaning I want an architect other than Dick.”

Tim’s whole face brightened for only a second before he remembered himself and put back on his mask of professionalism. Either he didn’t want to look his age, or he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Probably both.

“And?” he prompted.

Bruce grunted. He didn’t want to ask now that he knew it would be proving Dick right. Tim would always say yes. “I want you to act as architect for this.”

“Yes.”

It was immediate. So quickly that Bruce had barely finished his request. 

“You haven’t even heard the terms,” he pointed out, but Tim just shook his head.

“I don’t need to. Bruce, I’ve been waiting forever for you to take me out on the field! Of course I want to come!”

“Let me tell you the terms first,” Bruce said, leaving no room for argument. Tim seemed to understand this, and he leaned back onto the couch cushions, making a go ahead motion with his hand. “This is not the first field mission I would have chosen for you. It’s going to be dangerous, and the only reason I’m asking is because we need another architect. I know you’re capable, and I know you can do this, but you don’t have to and probably shouldn’t.”

“But what if I want to?”

“Think about this clearly, Tim. I only want you to agree if you’ve considered everything.”

Tim grinned sharply. “You know me, Bruce. I look at every possibility. So, give me all the information, and I can give you an informed yes.”

“Or an informed no.”

“Or that. Do you have it all compiled somewhere or..?” he asked, evidently taking in the absence of a laptop or even a folder of paper copies.

“I can tell you everything I know,” Bruce clarified, “which unfortunately isn’t much. A man by the name of Lincoln March has contracted me to extract information from Slade Wilson, to be used against him.”

Tim cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “Slade Wilson. I know that name from somewhere.”

“He’s also called Deathstroke. He’s an extremely high level mercenary and assassin, which is only one part of what makes this job so dangerous.”

“Explain.”

“Apart from the fact that getting close to him is nigh impossible, he’s trained when it comes to dreaming, meaning his subconscious will have defenses. You’ve never worked with an actively hostile mind before, which will make things harder on you. Additionally, we’ll need at least two layers to manage this, probably three.”

Tim considered it, suddenly looking less like a nineteen year old boy and more the shrewd businessman Bruce knew he could be. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said Deathstroke was only one part of what makes the job dangerous. What are the other parts?”

Bruce resisted the urge to smile. Tim was bright and picked up on things quickly. “Lincoln March, the man who hired me, is not particularly trustworthy. He insists on being a part of every step of the mission, which will complicate things and make it difficult for us to work with him breathing down our necks.”

Tim nodded, understanding.

“There’s also the matter that I’m putting together a completely new team,” Bruce continued. “Dick and I work well together, but we don’t know how you’ll work with everyone else, or how they’ll work with each other. That leaves plenty of ways for things to go wrong.”

“What’s the time frame?”

“We have a week to put together the team and get started.”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, and Bruce grimaced. “A week?”

“Not the best circumstances, I know, but Lincoln insists that it’s time sensitive.”

“Do you have any more information?” he asked, and Bruce hesitated to admit that, yes, this was really all he had.

“I’m sure we’ll get more from Lincoln once we start the planning stages, but for now, yes. I wasn’t given much intel straight out of the gate.”

“And you still agreed to it?”

It wasn’t judgemental, Bruce knew that. Tim didn’t have much room to talk, and his tone suggested nothing more than plain curiosity. He was perceptive enough to know there must have been another reason Bruce allowed himself to get dragged into something like this. And while Dick vacillated between pushing too much and asking no questions, Tim asked simply and then never accepted your answer at face value.

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Bruce settled on saying. 

Tim hummed, nodding absentmindedly. He was invested in his own thoughts now, and Bruce had all but lost him with regards to the conversation at hand. It didn’t matter though, because this was exactly what he’d wanted in the first place. For Tim to consider all the options, go over all the information. He wanted Tim to know precisely what he was getting into when he inevitably said yes.

“Who else would be on the team?” Tim asked after another moment’s deliberation. A good question, Bruce thought.

“Myself and Dick. You’ve met Dick, correct?”

Tim nodded. “Once.”

“I’m also asking Barbara Gordon, who I taught around the same time as him.”

“You’ve mentioned her. I thought she was the other architect.”

“She was,” Bruce said. “She doesn’t build anymore, for personal reasons, and I don’t want to ask that of her. Which is why I came to you.”

“Then what do you need her for? If she’s not building, I mean,” Tim specified.

“She’s very talented and has other abilities that lie outside of designing dreams.” The truth was Bruce didn't know. He had yet to speak with Barbara, let alone hear a confirmation that she would help, but he knew not to underestimate her. As he’d told Dick, she’d be a valuable asset, even topside.

“Alright then. Is that everyone? It’s a small team,” Tim pointed out.

Bruce heaved a sigh. “There’s one more person, but I’m not entirely sure he’ll join.”

“Who?”

“Until you meet him that’s none of your business,” he said and left it at that. He could tell he’d piqued Tim’s interest with the mystery of it all, which hadn’t exactly been his goal.

Tim smiled. “Can I give my answer now?”

Bruce knew what was coming. He’d known from the moment he’d called Tim for an impromptu visit, and even before, when he’d told his idea to Dick. That didn’t make him feel any less guilty hearing it now. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m definitely coming.”

Bruce sighed. “As long as you know what you’re getting into. Can you be in Gotham by Friday?”

“I thought you didn’t like staying in Gotham?”

“Lincoln insisted.”

“Ah,” Tim said, knowing. Bruce didn’t like that he was so knowing, but it couldn’t be helped. Lincoln would be there in person, and then everyone would be able to feel the tension, so a little head start on Tim’s part was fine, even if it meant he’d read Bruce more easily than expected.

He would have to be more careful, though. Dick could read him better than anyone else, and he hadn’t managed to piece everything together yet, but he would.

“I can send you more information on where we’re meeting in a few days. Just be prepared to be in Gotham on Friday,” Bruce said. Tim nodded and stood, leading him to the front door, the little intercom system chiming to open it. They exchanged pleasantries, the two of them comfortable with the formal atmosphere over something more casual, and then it was back to Gotham.

Time to find Barbara.

***

Bruce had been sitting at the hotel desk for over an hour before he finally picked up the phone and called. The thing was he knew exactly where Barbara was, or at the very least, where she operated on a regular basis. He’d kept tabs on her, and although she could have easily disappeared without a trace back when she cut ties, she had instead made it just difficult enough to find her for only Bruce to manage. The two of them had never had a particularly close relationship, not like he and Dick, but he’d always been proud of her, and she absolutely knew that.

“Bruce,” Barbara’s most professional voice answered, not surprised in any respect.

“Barbara. It’s good to speak with you.”

“You too. It’s been awhile.”

He could almost hear the fond smile in her words. Barbara had never been particularly nostalgic, but in that moment he swore they were both thinking of her time in training. Of simpler days when it was just the two of them and Dick, and every day was filled with mazes to design and realities to dream up.

“I was hoping to come visit in the next few days, if that’s alright with you.”

There was a pause on the other end, long enough for Bruce to worry she’d cut him off there, but then he heard muffled voices speaking and someone asking _who’s that on the phone?_

“Sorry,” Barbara finally said, “that was Dinah. She just got back from Oliver’s.”

“How is she?”

“Good. So’s Roy, if you want to pass that along to Dick. But I assume there’s a reason for this call beyond discussing my girlfriend and her family. You said you wanted to visit?”

“Yes, tomorrow, if possible. I have something to discuss with you that I’d rather do in person.”

“Alright then. I’ll clear my schedule,” she said wryly. “What time should I be expecting you?”

He’d had the flights open on his laptop since before he’d picked up the phone. “Early afternoon. Around two your time.”

The sound of typing was barely audible, and he was sure she’d already figured out exactly which flight he was on, accounting for the layover in Denver.

There were more indistinct voices, though Bruce could now place Dinah’s low tone. Someone else was there too, but Bruce didn’t recognize them.

“Well, then I guess I’ll see you soon,” Barbara spoke into the receiver. “I should go help Dinah with dinner. Have a safe flight.”

She hung up without waiting for a goodbye, which Bruce liked about her. They were remarkably similar in a lot of ways, something he hoped would work in his favor this time around.

Now he had about less than twenty-four hours to prepare his pitch.

If Bruce had a distaste for Metropolis, Star City was worse. At the very least Metropolis still had the classic feeling of an east coast city, but Star City was Pacific coast through and through, and Bruce hated it with everything he had. He wasn’t so vain as to think Barbara would choose her new center of business solely with him in mind, but it felt awfully personal as he drove through crowded streets, tasting salt in the air even with his windows up.

She had texted him when he’d landed, requesting to meet at some hipster coffee shop rather than her own place she shared with Dinah. God knows why, he thought as he walked through the door of the actual establishment, finding it to be even less to his taste than the city as a whole.

But the reason became clear when he found her tucked away into a back corner, with easy surveillance of the whole room and plenty of space to fit her wheelchair at the table where she’s set up camp. The atmosphere may not have been what he would have chosen, but it offered her an anonymity she likely could not find elsewhere.

She looked up from her screen as he approached her. “Hi Bruce.” She smiled, but the eyes behind her glasses were discerning, taking him in and taking him apart. They hadn’t seen each other in years; he was sure to look different, in more ways than one.

“Barbara,” he acknowledged, taking the empty seat next across from her. She gently closed the top of her laptop but left it out on the table.

“Shall we get down to business?”

He nodded once. They could chat later. “I’m here about a job Dick and I have taken,” he began.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah. I always keep tabs on you and Dick in case you get yourselves killed. Also I hacked into Tim’s Google Home,” she said idly. 

“His what?”

“The intercom thing.” Her eyes rolled slightly, but enough for Bruce to catch.

“And he still doesn’t know?” he asked. It was surprising. Tim had always been good with tech, and Bruce expected him to catch something like this. But then again, Barbara had more experience and also a proud record of never being caught.

“Well, he knows now. I talked to him after you called, since you’d gone to visit him before me. Smart move,” she added, before Bruce could interrupt. “Getting Tim on board first, I mean. He’d be easier to convince, and you know I’m gonna be more critical of the team.”

“He was also closer,” Bruce pointed out.

“That too.”

“So what do you say?”

Barbara leaned back, pulling her hair out of its ponytail and absentmindedly threading it into a braid. There was no way she hadn’t already put the thought into what she was going to say to him, so if anything, she was contemplating what to say first.

“What would I be doing? Obviously not point because that’s Dick, and you told Tim he was designing in place of me.”

Her face showed no malice, and Bruce didn’t expect it to. Instead, he looked into eyes that held just the right amount of curiosity that it must have been intentional. She knew how to telegraph her emotions to show only what she wanted you to see.

“I figured you could stay topside. Monitor our vitals and such. Mostly I just want you involved in the planning process,” he admitted.

She tilted her head in a way that was Dick but also wasn’t. “And what if I told you I’d like to go into the dream?”

As far as Bruce knew, Barbara had not gone into a dream since her accident. What she did in her personal time didn’t concern him, but she hadn’t taken any jobs and had refused to work with him further after it happened, breaking off her relationship with Dick as well. It had been messy for everyone involved, but she had needed the fresh start, and so Bruce had let her leave. He didn’t know how she’d gotten connected with Dinah and Oliver, but the business partnership made perfect sense, even if their relationship was a little odd, but who was he to judge.

All of it bothered Dick, but that was only a small detail in the grand scheme of things. Dick could compartmentalize for the job.

“I’d be surprised but willing,” he answered, and he could tell it was the right response by the slight curve of her lips.

“Good. I can’t promise anything, but we’ll see how it goes.”

Bruce allowed himself a smile. A few years ago she would have panicked at the prospect of going under again. He was proud.

“I have one other concern,” Barbara said, serious again. “Jason.”

Bruce nodded his understanding. “We don’t know if he’ll even agree.”

“And if he does?”

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it.”

“Bruce,” Barbara sighed. “Are you sure this is the best idea? Jason isn’t exactly stable, and if you’ve forgotten, he also hates you. Even if he does agree, he’ll probably just cause more problems.”

“We don’t know that,” he said, ignoring the jab at Jason’s feelings towards him. She hadn’t meant it personally; it was just fact.

“We do. It’s not worth it.”

Barbara would hold to this. She had more conviction than anyone else, sure of herself in a way that superseded confidence, and when it came to what she believed was right, she wouldn’t see any other way. But he refused to back down. Not on this. Not on Jason.

“Dick worked with him before we started working together again. I trust Dick’s judgement, and he agrees with me. We need Jason’s skills to pull this off.”

“That’s just the thing, Bruce. You trust Dick’s judgement with everything, but I think this might be one of the rare cases in which his intuition is wrong. He’s always been attached to Jason, and that makes him rash,” she stated. 

“He hated him, when they were younger,” Bruce argued. “Wanted nothing to do with him, in fact. Are you forgetting that he ran off to Wilson _because_ of Jason?”

Barbara removed her glasses and cleaned them, her eyes a striking blue behind the frames. But she wouldn’t look Bruce in the eye, and he knew why. She was just as much to blame for Dick running off. She didn’t stop him either. Didn’t help him.

“It wasn’t entirely because of Jason, and I really don’t think it helps to blame anyone for that. The point is that he resented Jason, sure, but he didn’t hate him. And while I don’t have a lot of details from when they worked together recently, I know Dick was hesitant to join you if it meant leaving Jason behind. I don’t think anyone else in the world could make Dick hesitate when it comes to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she said, glasses back on, “that the two of you are close. Too close, maybe, but I’m not the judge of that. All you have to do is say the word, and Dick comes running, which is part of the reason I couldn’t stay in a relationship with him. But Jason made him falter. That’s something not even I could do.”

She sounded sad as she said it, and a small part of Bruce wanted to comfort this woman sitting in front of him. Wanted to wrap her up in his arms and tell her it was going to be okay.

But Barbara didn’t need comfort, nor did she want it. Bruce didn’t know all the details of her split with Dick, but he knew it was messy and hard on both of them. Seemed like neither had completely moved on.

“I’m happy with Dinah,” Barbara said, cutting off his train of thought as if she knew. “It’s a little unconventional, but I don’t mind that she’s married to Oliver. We’re happy.”

Years ago Bruce might have thought she was trying to convince herself by saying that, but now Bruce knew better. Knew _her_ better.

“I’m glad.” And he meant it.

They flew back to Gotham together.

Bruce knew this counted as a big risk for Barbara, after she had purposefully left her whole world there behind and built a new one far away. After she had split with Dick resulting in him going off on his own only to team up with Jason of all people.

The last time they had all been in Gotham was not a pleasant memory.

He just hoped this time would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Tim and Bruce bonding, read [Raisin Delight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644082) by LemonadeGarden. They have a lot of good batfam fics that I highly recommend!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last! Jason! Sorry for the wait on this chapter, and the next one may be a bit as well. Real life is busy, plus [JayDick Week](https://jaydick-week.tumblr.com/) is coming up as well!
> 
> (See end notes for warnings)

It would be an understatement to say that Dick was nervous. It had been over a year since he had seen Jason. Over a year since they had parted on what hardly could have been considered the best of terms. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Bruce he had a better chance at convincing Jason to come, but that didn’t mean his chances were all that high to begin with.

Jason hated Bruce. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that he was angry with him. Dick had never been given the details of what precisely had happened to Jason all those years ago. He’d been preoccupied with his own troubles at the time—Slade anxiously hunting him down, Babs leaving him and then disappearing off the face of the map, Talia’s mysterious death—but even after, Bruce had never told him, not for lack of asking on Dick’s part.

Jason had dreamed, and something had gone wrong. Shortly after, Talia had died. That was what Dick knew for certain.

But there was always speculation, of course.

Dick assumed Ra’s was involved, what with the way the League was hunting Bruce. It had to be for more than simply the death of his daughter. Ra’s had never been known to be sentimental.

But what Dick didn’t know was what happened in Jason’s dream that had caused all this. It was something Bruce would never tell him, and it was something Jason would never tell him. Jason had always been rather tight-lipped when it came to his personal life, even after nearly a year of working together. Dick leaving probably didn’t help, he thought bitterly. He just hoped he hadn’t lost his trust forever.

The plane touched down at the Lyon-Saint Exupéry Airport right at noon, sunlight streaming through the tiny cabin windows. Dick’s stomach grumbled unhappily, and he figured he could stay awake long enough to get some delicious French food in him to make up for the shitty plane meals. Jetlag was a bitch, but he was currently in the world capital of gastronomy, and he might as well make the most of it.

He managed not to fall asleep on the drive to the hotel, a grand building that he had used Bruce’s money to pay for, and after dropping off his luggage, he set out to explore.

Dick didn’t know for sure whether Jason was here, but he’d done plenty of research in the last two days and had it on good authority that a certain forger had been making his way through France on a job for one Roman Sionis. What the job entailed Dick had yet to discover, but he knew a forger was involved, and he knew Sionis wasn’t one to settle for less than the best. And Jason was the best.

The smell of freshly cooked bread drew Dick’s attention to a small boulangerie on the street corner, as good a place as any to find lunch. One empty table sat outside amidst the occupied ones, and he snagged it up without hesitation. He bought more food than he probably needed, remembering to say his  _ bonjour _ as he entered, and then headed back outside to people watch while he ate.

It was relaxing, sitting outside and observing the passersby, everyone so busy with their own lives that they hardly stopped to appreciate the ones around them. Bruce had told Dick a long time ago that he appreciated his ability to read people, and so he tried to put it to good use. A mother on the sidewalk was scolding her child for trying to run off, the painter in the park across the street was in love with the woman he was painting, the man at the table next to Dick was scolding an employee over the phone in angry French. Dick tried to eavesdrop on the conversation by him, but his French was too rusty to keep up with the speed at which the man spoke, and by the time he’d figured out a single sentence, the man had hung up.

He spent another hour there, watching and listening to the city around him, and then he left for his destination. If he was correct, and the forger on the Sionis job was indeed Jason, then he would find him at the Musée des Beaux Arts in the next half hour or so. Dick prided himself in being an accomplished hacker, which was how he got most of his information, and he knew he had a style when it came to these things. If Jason was part of this operation, he would notice Dick’s work. If not, well, no harm done. And Dick figured Jason would appreciate a warning.

The museum itself was a large, opulent building with that classic, European look Dick always admired. Museums had never been his thing, but he had a taste for architecture, and he could admit this one was nice.

Inside, he weaved his way through tour groups in white walled rooms and remembered exactly why he’d never liked art museums. Everything was so bare with a piece of art or two decorating an otherwise empty room. He and Jason had taken a job in Italy once. Those museums had been much more pleasant, in Dick’s opinion at least. In fact, they had stayed an extra day just to explore them, and he remembered loving every minute of it.

Dick smiled at the memory and forged ahead.

The room where he stopped housed a couple large paintings filled with crowds of people that didn’t look particularly interesting, and a marble statue of a woman in the corner. There were two long benches pushed back to back in the middle of the floor, and on one of them sat a very familiar figure.

“Jason,” Dick said, and the man’s head lifted to reveal a face Dick hadn’t seen in a year and had missed more than he could have expected.

“Dick.”

“You came.” He could have backed out at any time from the moment he’d recognized Dick’s presence in their tech. He didn’t have to be there. Jason was good at coming up with excuses.

“Yeah. I saw your signature,” Jason confirmed.

“I hoped you would.”

Jason looked down and away, so Dick sat, just far enough apart for the few inches between them to act as a barrier. He wanted to show Jason he respected his privacy, and this was a start.

“What are you doing here, Dick?”

“I wanted to see you,” he tried, and right away he could tell it was the wrong answer. Jason tensed, shoulders drawing together in exactly the way Dick remembered. 

“Yeah? Why now? Because you’d have to think I’m an idiot to believe that you just wanted to hang out all of a sudden.”

Dick’s hands came up in a peacemaking kind of gesture at which Jason scowled. “Okay, okay, I have a reason to be here,” he admitted, “but I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to see you either. I’ve missed you.”

It slipped out of him before he could stop it, but Jason looked unimpressed. “Coulda come seen me at any time, Dickie.”

“You’re surprisingly difficult to find when you want to be.”

“Surprisingly?” Jason asked.

“Okay, not surprising,” Dick amended. “But the point still stands that it’s not an easy feat, and most of this time was pure luck.”

“Ever consider that I make it hard for you to find me on purpose?”

He had considered that. It wasn’t like he and Jason had parted on good terms, but a small part of him hoped Jason had missed him, too. Had hoped that Jason would follow him, maybe even ask him to come back.

Dick drew a breath and looked around the room, taking it in for the first time. The painting opposite them showed a battle scene, complete with horses and figures in dramatic poses. One of the painted characters was reaching out in desperation towards something beyond the frame. He wondered idly what it was. What could be worth reaching towards, in one’s final moments?

“I missed you,” he repeated, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.

"You were the one who left last time," Jason pointed out.

"You were the one who didn't come with me.”

"Don't put this on me! You should've known I'd never go back to work with Bruce,” Jason countered, and he was right. Bruce had come and offered Dick a job and, more importantly, a place in his life again. It felt something like forgiveness, and Dick had jumped on the chance and left Jason behind. A tentative friendship had only just formed between them, and Dick had been the one to snap it before it could strengthen into something more.

"Was that the only reason?" he whispered, letting the echo resound through the room.

Jason was silent, and Dick tried not to take it personally.

“Why are you here, Dick?” he finally asked.

“I need your help.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, as if it wasn’t the answer he had expected, or perhaps not the one he wanted. “With what?”

“There’s a job,” Dick began. “It would require a full team, and a forger would be really helpful.”

Someone walked into the room. A tour guide, with a small group following behind. The woman leading took no notice of them, but Jason froze, and Dick leaned back casually against the bench. They waited, but the group didn’t leave as the woman went through a well practiced explanation of the pieces around them.

Dick continued in a hushed tone. “We could really use your help on this one, Jay. You’re the best there is when it comes to forging.”

“I’m not working with him,” Jason hissed back.

“He won’t be the only one there. There’ll be a whole team. Babs’ll be there. You and Babs always got along, didn’t you?”

“I don’t care who else is on the team. If he’s leading, I want no part.”

“C’mon, Jason. Can you do this for me? We could work together again like before,” Dick pleaded. Begged, more like it, but Jason had that ability to bring out another side of Dick that he wouldn’t condescend to show anyone else.

“Yeah? And what makes you think I want to work with you?”

It was exactly what Dick had expected, but it still hurt to hear.

A bored looking kid at the back of the tour group raised his eyes at Jason’s words, more entertained by the two strangers’ conversation than the art, but then his mother pulled him along as they all shuffled out of the room and into the next to repeat the process.

“I’m sorry I left, Jason,” he offered once everyone was gone.

Jason looked away under the pretense of examining the painting to his other side. “Would you do it again?”

“What?”

Jason didn’t look back. “Would you do it again? If he asked you to, I mean. Would you still go running if he asked and leave everything behind?”

Dick’s own relationship with Bruce was something he’d given up scrutinizing long ago. He’d never been able to categorize it in a way that felt right, but when it came down to it, he was and would always be completely devoted to Bruce Wayne. He’d proven that once before, and he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t prove it again. 

Jason took Dick’s silence for an answer, and maybe he should have. His hesitation was answer enough.

“Good luck with your mission, Dick. I hope it goes well.” And to Jason’s credit, he looked sincere. He always looked sincere, and Dick always ran to Bruce, and these were just facts of life.

Jason left, and Dick didn’t follow. Just like last time, he thought bitterly, but in reverse.

***

Dick didn’t intend to let Jason go that easily. He still knew about the job he was working for Sionis, and he had time before Jason moved on from Lyon. Tracking him proved easier than expected, even if Jason had long since destroyed the one Dick had placed on him at the art museum, and soon he found himself outside a hotel hours after the sun had set, not nearly as nice as his own, watching as Jason filed in with two other people that must have made up the rest of his team. Sionis himself was nowhere in sight, but Dick had no record of him working in extraction. Like everyone else Dick had taken jobs from, he preferred to make others do his dirty work.

The dark gave him enough cover that none of the men—no women, he noted—saw him tucked around the corner. Dick’s hands tightened around the straps of his backpack when he saw Jason, but Jason’s usual paranoia levels were either mitigated by the urgency of the job or didn’t extend to Dick, because he followed the rest inside without a single glance at his surroundings.

Dick snuck in behind, unnoticed.

They took the stairs rather than the elevator, Dick slipping into the stairwell as they exited onto the fifth floor. He took the steps two at a time, but by the time he’d reached their level, the group was nowhere to be seen. The hotel hallway stretched on in all its standard uniformity, rows of doors lining the walls with no way of knowing which one they had disappeared behind.

Dick ducked into the first closet he found, pulled his laptop from his backpack, and got to work. Hacking the security cameras was an easy job for someone who had learned the ropes at age fifteen. He lost a little time, but now he could pinpoint exactly which room Jason and his team had entered.

Dick made his way down the hall and took care of the lock, opening the door softly. Stealth didn’t matter by now, but it was good to be prepared for anything, a lesson Bruce had drilled into him at an early age. Still, seeing Jason asleep on the floor of the hotel room, looking so vulnerable and young, struck something in him. Dick hadn’t seen Jason sleeping in ages, usually asleep with him whenever it had happened. 

The other two men lay to Jason’s right at the foot of the bed. On the bed lay a man Dick didn’t recognize and didn’t care about. His only concern was Jason.

Without a chance to second guess himself, Dick hooked himself up to the PASIV device and joined the dream.

Time never passed in a dream. It never failed to amaze him, but one moment Dick was situating himself to Jason’s left and the next he was at what looked to be a high society party. He’d been to enough of them to tell. One look around showed a rooftop venue in the early evening, sun still setting, and a medium sized group of people mingling with cocktails in their hands. All the ladies wore sleek gowns, and Dick looked down to see himself dressed in an elegantly tailored suit of midnight blue.

He wondered if this was Jason’s dream. Jason used to say he liked him in blue.

A high pitched laugh echoed from somewhere off to the side, some rich lady entertaining or being entertained. Dick ignored it and scanned the party for anything recognizable. As it stood, he was a foreign presence here, and he didn’t even know who’s dream he’d invaded. He didn’t see Jason, but that didn’t mean anything when Jason’s talent as a forger could have him wearing any face he wanted. If Dick couldn’t spot him first, then Jason had the upper hand.

Hadn’t Bruce told him recently to be less impulsive?

Dick slunk off to the side where the lady with the unpleasant laugh was indeed entertaining her own small gathering. Most of them looked bored, but she somehow kept everyone interested enough that no one dared escape. Dick edged closer, trying to blend in with the rest, same bored expression on his own face as he placed himself next to a stout man in a white suit.

With a start, he recognized him as the man from the hotel room, where he had been sleeping on the bed. This was their mark.

Dick took the chance to subtly glance around. Jason usually stayed close to the mark, but he could conceivably be anyone. The thought of him being the woman crossed his mind, but drawing attention like that had never been Jason’s style. 

Dick’s eye caught another woman across from him, tall and thin in a sophisticated black dress with blond hair twisted back into an updo. The woman didn’t look surprised, but she refused to meet Dick’s eyes again. Not a lot to go off of, but it would have to do. He very deliberately left the group, moving towards the edge of the roof and leaning over the rail. A moment later someone joined.

“Hey,” Dick said, not looking.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” The blond woman’s voice wasn’t as deep as Jason’s, though she looked to be older by at least a few years. Dick would never get used to the phenomenon of Jason’s forgery.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“We already talked,” Jason said.

“I mean again.”

“Is this why you really came? To fuck up my job?”

“What?”

“C’mon, Dick,” Jason sighed. “Your Plan A didn’t work out so you thought if you fucked me over this way then I’d have no choice but to run back to Bruce like you did.”

“No, that’s not what’s happening here,” Dick protested, but Jason’s expression twisted into something that didn’t belong on the blond woman’s face. “I’m not trying to ruin this job for you. I just knew this was the only way I could get you to talk.”

“Yeah, well the job’s already ruined, so good going on that one. I missed my in.”

Jason made to turn away, and Dick’s hand shot out on instinct to grab him. He hadn’t been trying to leave, Dick realized, embarrassed, only shifting his stance. Dick dutifully ignored the heat rising to his face, unable to will it back down despite knowing it was all a dream. Why did he never feel on even footing with Jason?

“Job’s not over yet,” he blurted in an attempt to save face.

The blond woman’s face looked intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“What if I help you with it? Call it an exchange of favors.”

“What makes you think this is an equal exchange?” Jason asked. “You seemed to think your job was pretty dangerous.”

“Something tells me you don’t want to mess up a contract with Roman Sionis,” Dick said, and he had him. The blond woman may not have been Jason, but the tells were there. They hadn’t been apart long enough that Dick had forgotten them.

Jason scowled. “Alright fine,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “We’ll finish this extraction, and if you help me pull it off without a hitch, I’ll come back with you.”

The wording wasn’t lost on Dick.  _ I’ll come back with you. _

“Okay,” he said, and grinned.

Jason grabbed his wrist without warning and dragged them both back to the center of the party, snagging a glass of what looked to be champagne off a nearby server’s tray. Dick followed suit, because Bruce never allowed him to drink on the job and he deserved to have some fun every now and then. Especially when working with Jason again. He grinned to himself, hoping no one would pay him any attention.

“Monsieur Fiorentino,” Jason called, the French and Italian pronunciations sounding natural on his tongue. The mark turned around from where he’d been chatting up a much younger woman and smiled at Jason.

“Estelle! Good to see you! You know, I meant to talk to you earlier, but of course we both got held up with dear Mrs. Durand.”

Jason smiled weakly, and to anyone who knew him it was obvious he hated this. To Mr. Fiorentino, however, Jason was Estelle, and Estelle was happy to be there. “Yes, I was hoping to talk with you as well. And perhaps introduce you to someone.”

“Ah yes, and who is this young man?” Fiorentino asked, taking note of their still clasped hands. Dick had a sudden urge to pull away, but Jason’s grip remained tight.

“My partner,” Jason said. It was just ambiguous enough that it could be taken a number of ways, but Dick knew exactly why he’d phrased it like that, and it wasn’t simply convenience. It was payback.

“Richard Grayson, pleased to meet you.” He stepped forward as he introduced himself and shook Fiorentino’s hand, refusing to meet Jason’s eyes. He knew exactly what kind of smug look he’d find there, and Dick was done blushing for the night.

“Estelle,” Fiorentino said, ignoring Dick entirely after he’d graced him with a handshake, “you never told me you were seeing someone.” 

“Yes, well, it never came up. Richard here is the kind of you only find in dreams, though.”

Jason’s hand snaked around Dick’s waist, firm enough to keep him from running off. Not that he would, but Dick would absolutely disappear from this conversation if given the chance.

“Mm, yes, I can see what you mean.” Fiorentino’s voice came out slurred enough to sound drunk. The way he eyed Dick wasn’t predatory in the way Dick was used to, but something in his gaze spoke of a danger beneath that white suited facade.

“Perhaps we could talk somewhere more private,” Jason said. “More champagne?” He procured another flute from who knows where and held it up to Fiorentino, who took it gracefully.

“I think that could be arranged,” Fiorentino answered with a pointed look at Dick.

Well, okay then. He could play along.

“How about I grab you another drink, dear?” Dick offered, and Estelle’s face may not have given anything away, but it was the right choice. He left the two of them to find a server, watching subtly as Jason led the man to an alcove shrouded in shadows. Circling back, he found Jason standing over the now unconscious form of Fiorentino, straightening his dress.

“Geez, what did you say to him?” Dick asked as he stepped over the body. There wasn’t a lot of room in the alcove, and he found himself pressed up against Estelle’s body, looking up into her eyes. He reminded himself that it was just Jason, but that didn’t seem to help.

“That my partner knows about our affair and then I threatened to tell his wife.”

“And he keeled over just from that?”

“No,” Jason said, “he keeled over because I drugged his champagne.”

Dick looked down at Fiorentino. In the darkness away from the party lights he couldn’t make out much more than an older man in a white suit. Nothing special about him, and Dick had never heard of him before, so why was Sionis so interested?

“Another level, then?” he asked.

A strand of Estelle’s hair came loose as Jason whipped his head back towards Dick from where he’d been scouting the corner to make sure no shades stumbled upon them. “Nah, just needed to get him away so the others can question him.”

“The others?” Dick prompted.

“Rest of my team. Extractors. Roman hired them.”

“Oh. You like working with them?”

Jason sighed and gave up keeping lookout. “Does it matter? I hardly know them.”

“Right,” Dick said, as the two men in question showed up.

“Who’s he?” one of them grunted, jerking his head towards Dick.

Jason snapped before Dick could come up with an appropriate reply. “Doesn’t matter. Just take care of him, for god’s sake!”

The man grumbled something unflattering and got to work dragging the body away with the help of his teammate. They struggled with the weight for long enough that Dick was tempted to offer his help, but then they were gone, and it was just him and Jason.

“So, is that everything, then?” Dick asked.

“My job was to drug him and get him away from the party.”

The sounds of light music and loud laughter echoed from around the corner, people who weren’t people enjoying the festivities. If not for the weight of the totem in his pocket, Dick could pretend this was a real party and that he’d come simply to enjoy himself too.

“I’m the dreamer by the way,” Jason said, out of nowhere. “So I can’t leave early. We’ll have to wait.”

Dick glanced at the lights reflected on the wall next to him, and then back at Jason. He grinned. “C’mon.”

Grabbing Jason’s hand, he pulled until they were stumbling back into the center of it all, the shades surrounding them talking and dancing. Dick somehow managed to manipulate Jason into the proper position right as the jazzy music slowed into something smooth and melodic. Clichéd as it was, Dick smiled into Estelle’s shoulder as he pulled Jason close.

The music continued from slow song to slow song, and perhaps Jason was altering the dream just enough to keep Dick near. He didn’t pull away, not until his teammates notified him that they had gotten the information and the job was finished.

Dick felt a little lost now that Jason had let him go. “What now?”

“We gotta wake up,” Jason said, tensing enough for Dick to catch. “Roman, uh, does it differently than Bruce.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like the sound of that. “How so?”

“He thinks setting a timer is too risky, in case things go wrong. He prefers that we finish the job on our own time and then wake ourselves up,” he admitted.

There was no doubt as to what that meant. Only one way of waking yourself up was actually failsafe and worked every time. And it wasn’t that Dick hadn’t done it before, but most of those times had been voluntary.

That didn’t make killing yourself any easier the next time around.

“Right,” he whispered, Jason nodding grimly. “How do you wanna do this?”

Something was pressed into his hands, heavy and cold. Dick looked down at the gun with unease.

“Same time?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Ready?”

Dick nodded. Jason looked prepared, and any anxiety he was feeling must have been directed at Dick, subtle glances tossed his way that Dick absolutely noticed. He wouldn’t have known Dick had done this before, with Slade, but it had been a while, working with Jason and then Bruce again. It had never been something he had enjoyed, even after the countless times he’d gone through it, and the fact that Sionis was putting Jason through the same thing tugged at his stomach until he felt sick from the thought. Dick brought the gun up to his head.

Jason raised his own gun with a barely there apprehension. He liked to make a show of being dramatic, but Dick knew that when it counted, he didn’t want to be watched.

Dick closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

The hotel lights blurred his vision as he shot up. Squinting, Dick surveyed the room to see Jason still next to him, his two partners in the process of standing. The man on the bed was out cold.

“Wanna explain who he is now?”

Dick looked up. Jason had stood, leaving him the only one on the floor, and all three men were looking down on him with varying levels of interest. He scrambled to his feet, reminding himself he was still in enemy territory and getting on Roman Sionis’ bad side was a hard no. God, Dick could hear Bruce’s voice already.

“Friend of mine,” Jason answered roughly, and surprisingly, the men left it alone, side-eying Dick as they went. “You okay?” he asked as soon as they were gone. “I know doing that’s never fun.”

And what was Dick supposed to say to that? No, it’s okay, I used to do it all the time. No, it’s not okay because you shouldn’t be forced to do that. It’s okay and it’s not because we were both brought up in this life to believe this is normal and I can’t believe I’m here asking you to give everything up to help me again.

He settled for, “I’m alright.”

Jason didn’t look convinced. Dick could never convince him, it seemed, and every time he tried to lie, Jason was there to pick up the pieces of the person he tried to be and put them back together into something different. Always a confusing mess of exactly what Dick wanted and everything that made him feel he had to hide.

Maybe that was why he ran last time.

Jason heaved a sigh, impossibly worn out in a way a someone his age had no right to sound. “So, a deal’s a deal, then.”

“Right,” Dick said. It felt wrong now, coercing Jason like that. Forcing him into everything he had been trying to avoid. Dick didn’t know what had happened, no matter how much he wanted to. How was it his right to decide Jason had to come back? “You don’t have to.”

“What?” A look of surprise crossed Jason’s face, but he turned away before Dick had the chance to take it in.

“You don’t have to come. I shouldn’t have bribed you into helping.”

Jason considered it, and Dick could feel himself begging him to say yes, even when he knew what the answer would be.

“Let’s discuss this outside,” Jason said, with a glance at the unconscious form of Fiorentino.

Oh. Dick could work with that. “Okay.”

Jason’s teammates were long gone once they stepped back into the night air, the van they’d come in suspiciously absent. Dick wondered if Jason would get into some kind of trouble with Sionis for this. He didn’t want to be the cause of that.

“I’ll come,” Jason said suddenly, breaking the silence between them, and for all that Dick had been wanting to hear that, he couldn’t believe it now.

“You— You will? Really?”

“Really.”

“But are you sure?”

Jason stepped forward, taking Dick hands, warm despite the chill around them. “I’m sure,” he said, that same sincerity shining through. “Besides, I’d have to see B again sometime. Might as well be now.”

Jason was doing it for him. Of course he was doing it for him, and Dick wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

But he tabled that thought, because Jason was coming back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's fic rec is brought to you by [GavotteAndGigue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GavotteAndGigue/pseuds/GavotteAndGigue). I just reread their wonderful fic, [The Robin String Quartet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051843/chapters/27290382), which is a fantastic au that does such a good job at exploring all the characters, but particularly Dick in my opinion. He tries so hard, but he can be pushy at times and he makes mistakes, something I love to see in fic.
> 
> As a bonus, [We Might Have been Birds in Another Life but I Don't Plan on Singing for You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504254/chapters/10242252) was one of the fics that got me hooked on JayDick in the first place. It's unfinished, but the first arc is complete.
> 
> (Warning for temporary suicide to escape a dream. Nobody actually dies.)


End file.
